The Book of the Rose

by Charles G.D. Roberts




Where are the kind eyes gone
That watched me so?
Was it but now they wept,
Or long ago?

Why did they run with tears


And yearn to me?
What was it in my face
They feared to see?

Ah, world, when did I pass
Beyond your smile,—


Forget you, for a long
Or little while?

Descending from the sun
Into this night,—
Impenetrable dark


That chokes my sight,—

Ah, now I know why stirs
No more my breath!
My mouth is stopt with dust,
My dream with death.


Where is this seed of self
I clutch to hold?
Will it dissolve with me
Into the mould?

It slips,—ah, let me sleep,

Worn, worn, outworn!
So to be strong when I
Arise, new born!